An Cosán Iathghlas
by La Mademoiselle
Summary: A set of oneshots and drabbles focusing on the pairing EnglandxIreland!OC, human names used
1. Introduction and Welcome

Hi! Welcome to my new compilation… thing

I know many of my watchers are waiting on **La Principessa y el Matador** and I'm sorry, but I've had a bit of a loss of muse for the moment. So, in its place, I bring you **An Cosán Iathghlas** (The Emerald Path) as a placeholder for those times when my updating for the other series is slow.

This is a CANONxOC PAIRING series, so if you don't support that, then I advise you to turn elsewhere. The pairing in question is EnglandxIreland, which in this case constitutes incest since in my OC backgrounds, the two are siblings, Ireland being the older sister.

THIS MEANS THAT THERE WILL BE MANY APPEARANCES BY OCS, mainly **Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Northern Ireland, Ancient Celts**. Human names will also be used. The human names for the OCs are as follows (so that you all don't get confused)

Scotland: Angus MacBeth

Ireland: Áine ní Siodhachaine (pronounced Anya O'Sheehan)

Wales: Andras Llwellyen

Northern Ireland: Alasdair Moriarity

Ancient Celts: Fionn mac Cumhail (pronounced Finn McCool after the legendary figure)

LANGUAGE NOTES: If I can remember, I'll post a translation of the Irish that I use, please bear in mind I don't speak Irish, but use a translator, so some of my translations are a bit wonky.

Please do not flame, you my critique my writing or my portrayal of the **canon** characters but do not bash the fics because you hate the pairing.

Introduction is done… and lame… orz… sorry…


	2. Sé troigh ar an imeall

**Title: **Sé troigh ar an imeall (Six feet from the edge)  
**Rating:** T for war violence, slight language  
**Plot:** What happens when you let go of the edge and fall?  
**Characters:** Arthur "England Kirkland", Angus "Scotland" MacBeth, Andras "Wales" Llewllyen, Áine "Ireland" ní Siodhachaine, Alasdair "Northern Ireland" Moriarity, Michael Collins

Language Notes:

_Éirinn go Brách - _Ireland Forever, it's a very common saying.

**I DON'T OWN HETALIA**

* * *

_What happens when you've been pushed so far towards the edge, that you're only holding on by your fingers? What happens when they slip and everything you knew comes crashing down in fire, explosives, and gunpowder? What if you drug your family, the people you loved most, down with you?_

_People, innocent bystanders, policemen, and soldiers all, got hurt, governments fell to pieces, families were torn asunder by an action, a thought, a dream._

_Once the first steps had been taken, they could not go backwards, only forwards, and if that meant an irreparable rift, so be it, for this dream had been centuries too long in coming._

_The time is the winter of 1921, the place: Dublin, Ireland embroiled in the middle of a bitter, bloody revolution. This fight is a fight between nations, between siblings, the odds were uneven, all against one single individual who held onto her dream like it was her only salvation from the chaos her country had become._

* * *

It was not a time any of them would soon forget. Those three years, those three, short, awful years which culminated in such a violent way.

England, Scotland, and Wales ran through some of the narrower streets in the ancient city of Dublin, leading a small battalion of Scottish and British soldiers, pursuing the ragtag militia that called itself the Irish Republican Army. How Ireland had managed to gather them, no one knew, except Scotland, who, having been involved with their younger brother in raising him, knew that the Irish wanted this, Ireland herself wanted this so badly, more so than she had for centuries, that tensions were high and no one could see the building pressure beneath her calm, collected expression.

And when they erupted, they _erupted_… in 1916, the middle of the Great War, on Easter Sunday of all times too. The Easter Rising shocked everyone in the world, especially considering how devout the Irish tended to be. Of course, the little rebellion had been quickly put down, the leaders rounded up, and executed as examples. When they didn't resurface for a while, the territories of Great Britain heaved a collective sigh of relief, chalking it up to just one of Ireland's little temper tantrums that she sometimes had. If only, if only… they hadn't disappeared, they'd been lying in wait, and had reemerged at a time when the Kingdom was vulnerable, poor, and scarred by the recent, brutal war.

"They went this way," Scotland said, coming out upon a square, the others on his heels. The people on the street stopped, staring mutely at the British before scurrying into buildings and alleys to take cover. Aside from the pigeons and the bubbling of the fountain, the surroundings were silent. It was the creepiest feeling in the world, the weight settling on the Highland country's shoulders. Something was about to happen, it had been quiet, no sightings of the IRA anywhere. At his side, his younger brother scowled, shivering.

The pressure was getting to him, this rebellion was unlike any of the ones Ireland had pulled before, in fact, they had drafted a Declaration of Independence, created a parliament, and formed an army of sorts. The British control on the country was crumbling, Scotland knew it, even if they managed to defeat the Irish, how long would it take to rebuild?

The sound of church bells rang through the silence, startling many of the soldiers into firing their guns at anything and nothing. "England, Scotland, look!" Wales pointed towards a nearby tower where a tri-color flag had been raised, the symbol of the Irish Republic. They were distracted momentarily by the flag and the bells, which was all the time that had been needed for the battle to start.

Militants swarmed through the alleys, slamming into the British forces while some fired from the roofs of the buildings surrounding the square. "Damn it all!" Scotland growled, giving the command to fire. The air was rife with shouting in the Irish language and, amidst the chaos, a slim red-headed woman stood atop the fountain, rifle in hand, crying out in a loud voice.

"_Éirinn go Brách!"_

* * *

The fighting went on and on, the Irish forces seeming more well-trained in the past, whether it was due to actual combat training or sheer determination to break free of English reign, Wales couldn't say. While he participated in the battle, he was unhappy with it. Why Ireland couldn't have settled this more amiably was beyond him but then… she did tend to be dramatic and showy… and England could be rather stubborn. Still… she endangered the lives of thousands of people with this little display, she either wanted her freedom that badly, or she was trying to prove a point. Finally, the battle silenced, and Wales couldn't understand why until he looked ahead.

Ireland and England staring each other down over the barrels of their guns. How much it must pain them both to do such a thing! Wales was well-aware of the nature of their feelings for each other, despite the tension between them for the past few centuries. "You insolent little… how could you?" even in anger, England couldn't summon the loathing needed to spit an insult at his proud older sister. He merely stood fast, gun trained on her. Shockingly enough, to both sides, Ireland lowered her weapon and walked towards him, grim determination set in her eyes. Wales slipped closer to the pair, ready to jump in if something went wrong and found himself holding his breath as Ireland grabbed the barrel of England's gun and directed it point-blank at her heart.

"Shoot me then," she said much more evenly than she should have, the passion evident in her eyes as she locked onto England's face, "If you're so angry at me, if you hate me so much, then pull the trigger and shoot me." The silence was tense as both sides waited for England's move. He himself seemed to be debating the choices in his head, his resolve wavering and finally crumbling as he relaxed his grip on the trigger. Ireland's face was disdainful, "You can't, can you? I knew you wouldn't." She released the gun and turning away from her younger brother.

England glared at her retreating form, "But I know that you couldn't shoot me either." The jibe worked and she turned slowly on her heel. "Try it, I think we both know you won't be able to," he challenged, smiling smugly. Proud as always, Ireland stood where she was and lifted her weapon, training it on him with an expert marksman's ease. Her hand was on the trigger and once again, the air was tense.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE, FOOLS!" Scotland roared.

It all happened so quickly after that. On edge from the challenge and the fighting, Scotland's loud voice startled Ireland. In a terrifying turn of events, her finger slipped, and the gun fired. Wales was frozen with shock until he say England stumble backwards, falling to the ground and bleeding from a wound to the shoulder.

Seconds later, chaos erupted as Scotland raced over to his fallen younger brother, the troops were in a panic, and Michael Collins, the human leader of the Irish Army was shouting orders to retreat. In the middle of it, Ireland stood still, the gun slipped from her fingers and her face was frozen into a mask of horrified disbelief as she realized what she had done. Collins, noticing her, pulled on her arm, dragging her back into the dark alleys and soon, the IRA was gone, but Scotland and Wales were too busy trying to stop the bleeding, someone was calling for a doctor… if there was one in Ireland who would help them.

* * *

"Big Sister… what's the matter?" little Northern Ireland tugged on his sister's sleeves. They'd returned to the hideout that served as the IRA's secret headquarters a little outside the city limits of Dublin. Collins was shouting orders, warning the men to be on alert. Ireland, however, sat on her cot where she'd collapsed upon their return, staring ahead blankly. Northern Ireland's tugging got her to come crashing back down to earth and she gathered the child into her arms, sobbing into his soft mop of red hair that was almost exactly like her own.

"I… I… oh God, help me…" she cried, "I shot him… I really did… I wasn't going to… but…"

"Miss Ireland, please, you must calm down," Northern Ireland wriggled around in his sister's death grip to face Mr. Collins who'd been helping her lead the army. "We still have more work to do."

"Oh God… oh God… what if I killed him?" she was too far gone in shock to be of any help planning (much less leading) the next strike and the man shook his head, rejoining the men they'd employed as strategists. Northern Ireland scowled at his making-light at what had to have been very traumatic for his beloved big sister, shooting the brother she loved. He hugged her, his little arms trying to offer her what solace he could.

* * *

England lay in the bed of the hospital they'd rushed him to in Scotland. He didn't think she'd do it… he'd really hedged his bets on her not doing it. But… there'd been no indecision in her eyes, even though Scotland's shout had startled her, causing her to accidentally fire, she'd not wavered in her resolve as he had. He was lucky, she'd been so startled, she'd shot high, hitting him square in the shoulder instead of in a vital area. When Ireland aimed and shot at something deliberately, she didn't miss… never. Her eyes were that of the hunting falcon she kept.

His lips moved, no sound coming out around his dry throat, he tried again, managing a breathy croak. "Why?"

He realized something then. Something that he'd disregarded so often in the past as foolishness, her temperament, her dramatic flare. Something that was made painfully obvious on that horrible afternoon.

She wanted this, wanted to be apart from him. She wanted it so badly, she would have willingly shot him with the intent to kill just to prove a point.

* * *

_What do you do when you dream causes you to injure someone you love? When do you realize that if circumstances had been different, you still would have injured that person?_

_What happens when you've been pushed so far towards the edge, that you're only holding on by your fingers?_

_What happens when you let go of the edge and fall?_


End file.
